Flangst
by Snowshoe Aviator
Summary: A little oneshot piece I made offhand to amuse my girlfriend one night. I am guessing that this will last for about three or four chapters. It centers around Colonial!America, though Britain will come in later. Flangst is a word that we came up with as a combination of 'fluff' and 'angst'. Rated T for medical accuracy/gory descriptions.
1. To Work the Fields

Alfred wiped his brow and looked over his small field of tobacco and to the ocean, checking for the large white sails of English ships that would bring Arthur back. He had spent the past few weeks awaiting his brother's return. He returned to his work and reminisced about the past to himself, remembering the first time he had met Arthur. He was just a lad, orphaned and having to live with his Uncle and Aunt. One day they had sent him out to the docks to pick up a case of imported English tea. Alfred got there and handed the money to a man in a British naval uniform. He could remember that they made small talk, but couldn't recall exactly was said. Regardless, the lad had really bonded strongly with the young captain. He had told him his name was Arthur Kirkland, and that he was from London. Arthur had made some comment about how the case of tea would most likely be to heavy for him to carry, then hoisted the crate up and held it by his shoulder. Alfred took a moment to stare in awe of his strength, sanding with his jaw slightly slack. Arthur had smiled and chuckled a bit, using his free hand to pat Alfred on the back, telling him to leaf the way. He grinned like a fool, nodding and tried to walk with the gait that he had seen his uncle use. Arthur had cracked a smile at the lad trying to imitate a man. Thinking back, Alfred estimated that the walk back there had taken roughly two hours. The lad was immediately set on edge by the sight of the house with the doors flung wide open. His uncle usually kept them closed because his Aunt claimed it let in excess bugs, though if it made a difference is anyone's guess. His pace slowed and nearly stopped. The Englishman had noticed the boy's discomfort and set down the tea, his hand going for a pistol that he kept on him just in case. With the reassurance of Arthur, Alfred had walked slowly, almost dropping into a crouch instinctively, towards the open doors. When they got inside he saw his Aunt and Uncle's corpses laying sprawled indignantly out. Their scalps had been removed while they were alive it seemed, judging by the blood splatters. He screamed and collapsed, his knees giving out. He had nearly passed out completely. Arthur had grabbed him and carried him away, not wanting to leave him alone. Arthur had taken him to the place he was staying while he was in the colonies, an inn by the sea. Arthur left him to his own devices while he went and reported their death to the police, when he got back he kept swearing about the French and Indians. Upon hearing the word 'Indian' his eyes filled with tears. He told Arthur of how his father was killed by Indians a few years ago and that his mother died due to complications during his birth, so that his Aunt and Uncle were the only ones that would care for him. He whimpered and wondered aloud where he would go and what he would have to do to live. Alfred had put his hands over his face, bawling into his hands when suddenly Arthur had pulled him into a tight hug. He shushed the lad and comforted him, assuring him that he would take care of him.


	2. I'm Always Careful with Tigers

Alfred was pulled back into reality when his body stopped moving. He blinked a few times and shook his head, clearing his mind. The boy straightened himself and looked over the plants he had been tending, checking that each row had been properly tended to. He smiled and nodded, feeling a surge of pride at his work, when suddenly feeling his stomach growling for food. Alfred's face reddened slightly as it growled aloud, even though no one was there to hear it. He looked towards the sun to check it's position. It had turned quite orange and was headed towards the ground. "What direction did Arthur say it set?" he wondered briefly, though his mind nearly immediately went back to food. As he walked back to the house he thought more about it and realized that the only food he possibly had was some stale bread and hardtack left over from a few days ago. The boy put a hand to his forehead squeezing his eyes shut for a brief moment, cursing his stupidity. He was supposed to go to town today to restock on supplies and sell some tobacco, but instead he had spent his valuable time daydreaming. Alfred threw open the door and walked through the main hall, then to the left arriving at the hearth in the kitchen area. He rummaged around to find the last bit of bread, carefully unwrapping it from a towel. He then grabbed his spoon to begin scraping the kettle at the hearth for the old hardtack. He ate it quite fast, still feeling hungry. He sat down by the kettle to let his stomach get the food. The hungry feeling left him in about ten minutes so he decided to go to bed. Alfred walked down the hallway again, going a bit farther and to the right. There was his room, bed looking especially inviting. He quickly pulled off his clothes, folding them neatly on a chair placed to the side of his door, serving as a laundry bin. He walked to his closet, pulling out a nightgown to wear for the night. He curled himself up on top of the covers, watching the sun set fully, moon rising to take it's place. Alfred tried to keep his eyes open, wanting to keep watch just in case his brother were to arrive, but it proved futile. Sleep easily won out over the exhausted lad.


	3. The Shining Wire

Author's Notes: I am really sorry for the shortness of this chapter. T_T And that it leaves on a cliff hanger. But I have been really bad at writing lately. Forgive me and I promise something good will come of next chapter.  
_

Alfred had woken up sometime in the middle of the night coughing and the feeling of a raw pain in his throat. He drug himself out of bed, feeling a rush of nausea overcome him, forcing the boy to sit back down or risk loosing the contents in his already starved stomach. He waited a few minutes sitting and wheezing painfully, trying to not cough and tear up his phalanx further. He got up finally and walked unsteadily through the house, he fell in the hallway and began to have a coughing fit. The lad stumbled to get up, failing and eventually resorting to crawling along the floor to reach his destination, the back door. He pulled himself up with the doorknob, opening it and walking through slowly. He stumbled out to where the well was and pulled up the bucket, drinking greedily. He gasped and choked on the water, nearly dropping the bucket as he coughed. The coughing fit intensified and the boy doubled over, retching.


	4. God in this Moment

Alfred lay on the ground for a few minutes next to a pile of vomit that mainly consisted of water. He wheezed and sniffled, tears streaming down his face, feeling as though he would begin retching again.

It never came though, his stomach settled, now more empty than the lad could ever remember it being. He got to his feet slowly, head spinning. He staggered a few steps before resorting to clinging to the well for stability. It became clear to the boy after standing for a few minutes that the dizziness was not going to pass. He whimpered and then got to his hands and knees and made his way back to the door, completely forgetting his reason for coming out in the first place and leaving the bucket of water behind.

Once inside Alfred half heartedly pushed the door shut, then crawled the rest of the way to the den, onto Arthur's chair. The boy curled himself up onto it and cried, exhausted and starved. He fell into a nightmare plagued sleep.

Alfred awoke the next morning to a painful sensation throughout his entire body. His organs felt as though they were forcing their way out of his body. He curled himself tighter for a few heartbeats, then sprung up and blindly ran outside towards the outhouse, though he wasn't really aware of his surroundings. He didn't make it to the outhouse in time, instead he crumpled onto the ground as his colon forcefully ejected a stream of blood and not much else. He again was laying outside, hugging his legs to his chest and tears in his eyes. He didn't bother to try and stand this time, though. On his way crawling back to the house he did stop at the well and grabbed the bucket of water, taking a tiny sip and bringing it in with him, so that dehydration didn't become another one of his current problems.

Several days passed, not much changing at all. He had little food and drank little water in an attempt to keep it down, though he still ended up regurgitating almost everything anyway. The night terrors worsened and began to spread into his waking hours as well. He found he could no longer keep track of the days. He sat there on Arthur's chair, envisioning a bloody battle field. Shouts and splatters coming from everywhere, he was coated in blood. A single loud noise came from outside, but he had long ago stopped investigating sounds.

Arthur had finally hauled the large heavy chest of supplies up to the house, letting it drop by the side of the house. Something struck him as odd. Where was Alfred? The lad was usually so excited that he would run out to port at the first sight of sails. He left the chest there and walked around to the door. Arthur's heart dropped when he saw the door ajar. Panic seeped into his thought and he raised up his musket, roughly shouldering open the door and slipping inside and checking the house. He stopped when he heard Alfred's pained moan. He ran to the room it came from, registering it was the den and throwing the door open. The sight before him nearly made him drop his musket. Alfred lay there on his chair, emaciated and covered in what appeared to be blood and some other fluids. He ran to the boy's side.

"Good lord, lad, what's wrong? How long have you been like this?" his desperate questions fell on deaf ears, as Alfred was still trapped in his delusion. Arthur gingerly picked up the boy, bringing him into a bathroom and drawing a hot bath. He stripped the child of the bloody clothes and set him in the warm water, using a sponge to clean him off.

When the bath had gone cold and the boy was nearly clean Arthur lifted him out and wrapped him in a fluffy towel, making preening noises in attempt to bring him back to reality. It didn't work. He dressed Alfred in a loose nightgown and placed him in the center of the bed they usually shared when Arthur was home. The young man then went out to the chest he left outside and brought in a few things, throwing them in a pot and fetching water, creating a soup to try and feed Alfred. The soup was an easy thing to make, it was ready within the hour. He filled a bowel up and walked into the room he had left Alfred in, helping the boy to sit up and feeding him. "That's a good lad," Arthur encouraged as Alfred seemed to enter the waking world again.

Alfred was back in reality by the time that he had finished the bowl of soup, his stomach filled for the first time in what seemed like an eternity to him. He tried to speak, but it came out as a hoarse croaking, so he simply curled into Arthur's lap and hugged him.

Arthur hugged the boy close and pet his head. "It's alright, lad. I'm here. I'll get you all fixed up and back on your feet in no time." he sat the boy up in his lap, "Now, Alfred, can you tell me how long this has been going on?" the young man asked.

Alfred looked confused for a few seconds, then closed his eyes, trying to concentrate. He cleared his throat several times in attempt to get it into working order again.

"It's been more than a few days." he said finally, falling back and nuzzling into Arthur's chest. A look of concern crossed Arthur's face as he looked down at the boy. 'With proper meals he should be fine in a week.' he thought.


End file.
